


Fool for Love

by standbygo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Laughter, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 05:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18176219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/standbygo/pseuds/standbygo
Summary: Sherlock and John act like 12 year old idiots at Scotland Yard, and Lestrade realizes how much they've changed.





	Fool for Love

“Sir?”

“Just a mo, Hopkins,” Greg said. He’d just gotten his lunch, it was still hot. He wanted a hot meal, just once.

“Yes, but sir?”

Greg sighed. Just _once_. “Yes, Hopkins?”

“Ahm… we’ve got a bit of a situation that I think you ought to be aware of.”

“Can’t Rigg help you?”

“Well, that’s kind of the problem.”

Greg gave Hopkins a bit more of his attention. It wasn’t like her to complain about a superior. But Riggs was new, just transferred to NSY from Manchester, and Greg didn’t really know him yet. “What’s up?”

Hopkins’ fingers tangled together in agitation. “You know how Detective Inspector Riggs was handling the thefts, the gold bars?”

“Yeah?”

“And you suggested he bring in Mr. Holmes?”

“Oh no. Did he punch Sherlock? I warned him not to punch Sherlock.”

“No, sir, I don’t think he did. Well, Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson came in, and it went very well, and an arrest was made this morning.”

“Well, that’s good, innit?” Greg picked up his sandwich again in eternal hope.

“Yes, sir, but then Detective Inspector Riggs asked Mr. Holmes to fill out the paperwork, and you know how Mr. Holmes is about paperwork.”

“He likes it as much as a cat likes a shower.”

“Yes, sir. So Mr. Holmes insisted on leaving, and Detective Inspector Riggs insisted on the paperwork being completed first, and Mr. Holmes refused, and…”

Greg got a sinking feeling in his stomach. “What did he do?”

“Detective Inspector Riggs locked Mr. Holmes in one of the interrogation rooms.”

Greg laughed with a bit of relief. “Well, that wouldn’t be the first time. He and John have done that a few times on their own. Just give that room a wide berth for an hour or so, and Riggs can pay the cleaning bill.”

“No, sir, he just locked Mr. Holmes in, not Doctor Watson.”

His jaw dropped. “He separated them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Mr. Holmes’s lock picking kit?”

“Detective Inspector Riggs confiscated it.”

Greg dropped his sandwich. “Oh shit.” He jumped to his feet. “How long ago was this?”

Hopkins sounded agonized. “About half an hour.”

“What?! Why didn’t you come get me right away?”

“Detective Inspector Riggs had me come with him to finish processing the suspect, and I wasn’t able to get away until now.”

“Crap crap crap.” Greg headed down the corridor, Hopkins following closely behind. “Which one?”

“Number five sir.”

“Right. You go find Riggs again, tell him that I said to give you Sherlock’s kit and that I need to talk to him stat.”

“Yes sir!” Hopkins sped off towards Processing.

Greg jogged down the hall. He couldn’t believe Riggs’s stupidity. Granted, he didn’t know Sherlock and John very well yet, and he kicked himself for not giving him explicit instructions about how to handle Sherlock after a case was completed. But he couldn’t have anticipated _this_. God, it would be a wonder if the interrogation window wasn’t smashed. It was unbreakable glass, but Greg didn’t give much credit to any man-made barrier between Sherlock and John.

As he rounded the corner toward interrogation room five, he heard … something. He slowed down, quieting his footsteps to hear better. He had half expected to hear John still raising a ruckus – for a small man, he could raise a fairly loud ruckus if Sherlock had been slighted – but instead he heard something else.

Laughter.

He could hear a giggle that could only be John’s, a sound that he generally had only heard when John had a couple of pints inside him. The giggles were uncontrolled, spilling over into the corridor.

“Oh God, oh God, Sherlock, I can’t breathe! You-”, then a fresh round of laughter.

Greg sidled quietly up to the door of the observation half of the interrogation room. There stood John, facing the one-way glass, leaning on the ledge there, beside himself with laughter. He took no notice of Greg behind him, clearly distracted. Greg’s brow knotted in confusion, and he quietly moved so he could look into the other room.

A large pane of glass separated John from the interrogation room. Greg could see through it, and knew that it was a mirror on the other side. The room was bare, with only a metal table and two chairs… and no Sherlock. But John was looking at the window and giggling – had he finally lost his mind?

Then he saw Sherlock – or rather, just his head. Coming from the side of the observation window. Parallel to the floor.

Sherlock’s face was completely deadpan, as if it was usual business for his head to float into sight perpendicular to the wall. He moved slowly, as though he was an astronaut in space. The more slowly he moved, the more John laughed. Then, just as leisurely, his head disappeared from view.

John was wheezing. “Do another!” he called.

Sherlock strode into full view and stood in the centre of the window, facing John. He stood there for a moment, his face expressing utter boredom, then he took one hand from his pocket and pressed an invisible button on the window. Immediately he began to go ‘down’, as though he was on an elevator. Just before he disappeared from view, he looked up, as though at the numbers above the door.

Greg smothered his own laughter. He had done a similar trick with his nieces and nephews, and they had laughed as hard as John. He was fairly sure, however, that he had not done it as skillfully as Sherlock had just done.

“Do the escalator again!” John said.

Sherlock appeared in the window and mouthed, “What?”

John sighed impatiently, and pulled out his phone, texting a quick message. Greg saw Sherlock look at his own phone and nod his understanding. Of course, Greg realized, the interrogation room was soundproof.

Sherlock moved to the far left side of the mirror, standing at his full height. Then he began to glide to the right, while moving down. For all the world it looked as though he was going down an escalator. What made the impression all the funnier was the expression of pure boredom on his face. One could almost believe he was in Harrod’s.

John laughed, collapsing into a chair. “Oh God, Sherlock…”

Sherlock re-emerged, a small smile on his face. He pulled out his phone again, texting quickly. Greg heard John’s phone beep, and John looked at it. His face screwed up in confusion.

“Staircase with structural damage?” he said.

In reply, Sherlock moved to the side of the window, the right this time. He began to walk ‘downstairs’, marching down an invisible set of stairs. When he was half way across the window, his face broke with a look of panic and surprise, and he collapsed out of view

John’s laughter turned to the high-pitched giggle again. “You…” he panted, “you… are insane. You are certifiable, you are. Oh my God.”

John’s phone beeped again, and John wiped his eyes before checking it. “Boating down the Thames,” he read to himself.

As John looked up, Sherlock was already moving from one side of the window to the other, backwards, pulling on imaginary oars, and clearly enjoying the sights of Henley-on-Thames.

Greg leaned on the door jamb, his stomach hurting from suppressed laughter. He looked at John, and thought about how the laughter took about ten years off his face: the lines of sadness and pain had lifted into happiness and joy. He had been through so much, and Greg was glad to see him like this.

And Sherlock. When Greg had first met Sherlock, his face was smooth and bland, not betraying any emotion at all, not happiness nor sorrow, as though he was above all those plebian feelings. And now, along with the few white hairs among the black curls, there were crow’s feet by his eyes that showed the traces of smiles and laughter.

If someone had told Greg two years ago that Sherlock would someday be clowning, being silly, for anyone else, Greg would have told them to get off. But here he was. Because of the mirror, Sherlock couldn’t see John, or his reaction; because of the soundproofing, he couldn’t hear John’s giggles except very faintly. But he was acting the fool for John, for the sheer pleasure of _knowing_ that it was making John laugh.

Once more, Greg thanked whatever god it was that helped these two men to figure it all out, and finally love each other. And love brought them joy, which allowed them to laugh.

When he first saw Sherlock’s show for John, Greg had considered joining John in the observation room, and watching Sherlock together. Now he realized that that would not be appropriate. This was something for the two of them alone.

Silently, Greg moved away from the doorway and a little bit back down the hall. He waited a moment, then pulled his keys from his pocket and rattled them while saying loudly, “Honest to God, that Riggs, I can’t believe-”

As he rounded the corner to the observation room again, he came face to face with John. John’s face was now stern and angry, his arms folded across his chest. Greg could hardly believe that John had been busting a gut only a minute earlier.

“The hell, Greg?” John said.

Greg glanced into the interrogation room. Sherlock stood imperiously next to the table, hands clasped behind his back, his nose in the air, radiating scorn and indignation.

“Riggs locked him in, Greg,” John hissed.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Greg said. He put his key in the door and unlocked it. Sherlock came out with immense dignity.

“All right, Sherlock?” John said.

“Fine,” Sherlock intoned blandly.

“You tell Riggs we’re done with him,” John said, turning to Greg. “No more cases for him. We’ll work with you, and Gregson, and Ali, but not Riggs. Ever.”

“I recognize, albeit reluctantly, your need for paperwork after a case because of our antiquated justice system,” Sherlock said. “However, I object strongly to being treated like a child or like a common criminal in the pursuit of it.”

Greg held up his hands, placating. “I know, guys. I’ll talk to Riggs.”

“He took Sherlock’s kit,” John said.

“I know, I sent Hopkins to get it back.”

“Have it sent to Baker Street tomorrow,” Sherlock said. “We’re going home. Now.”

“Of course,” Greg said.

They walked the short distance to the elevator, Greg followed behind. John and Sherlock were all business now, their strides swift and efficient. No one would believe Greg if he told them about these two behaving like twelve year olds. Greg decided it would be wisest to stay quiet, otherwise he might blurt out the secret.

As John and Sherlock waited for the elevator, Greg threw out one more lifeline. “Again, really sorry about Riggs. Won’t happen again.”

“That is correct,” Sherlock said.

The elevator doors opened, and John and Sherlock entered. The doors were almost closed when Greg heard one final snort of laughter from them.

Greg went back to the interrogation room, hoping to catch Hopkins with Sherlock’s kit, but she was nowhere in sight. Seeing some paper on the table, Greg went in to clear the room. To his surprise, he found that it was Sherlock’s paperwork, filled out messily but completely.

Greg smiled at the window. He found himself reminiscing about the early days of his relationship with his ex-wife, of laughing themselves sick together. He didn’t miss her, not any more, that was done and dusted, but the laughter – he missed that.

He thought for a bit, then pulled out his mobile and punched in a number he’d memorized a long time ago, but never actually dialed.

“Hey Molls, it’s Greg. All right? Good. Look, I was wondering,” Greg scratched the back of his neck. God, you’d think this would get easier when you got older. “I was wondering – I remember you said you really liked that movie, Bringing Up Baby? Is that right? Well, I saw that they’re showing it at the Electric Cinema in Shoreditch, I was wondering if you-”

He listened, and grinned.

“That’s great. Friday, then? Lovely. Looking forward to it.”

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> The Electric Cinema is a real place in London, and seems like a fantastic place for a first date: https://secretldn.com/electric-cinema-double-beds-london/
> 
> BC also did an advert for them way back, and played Humphrey Bogart (count the other Brit stars!): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0g4l5wqK6Sg


End file.
